


Honest

by aizia



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4420004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aizia/pseuds/aizia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years have changed nothing and everything all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honest

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place the day and then night of 4x07 (Reunion). Korra's POV.

You meet her eyes and really look at her for the first time in years. She looks older, wiser. Her hair is tied back and her smile makes her eyes look soft. 

She’s even more beautiful than you remember.

She rests her palms on your shoulders and it’s the same touch from all those years ago, gentle, constant. You want to bottle up the feeling so you’ll never have to go another day without it. 

 

* * *

 

Asami is always touching you, now, like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she doesn’t hold on. Another day, you might have felt guilty at the thought, but she looks so happy that evening that you forget to feel anything but the same.

 

* * *

 

You can’t sleep, but you’re not surprised.

You wander the halls of the Air Temple, your thoughts circling and your head buzzing. You haven’t been out long when you notice her light on beneath a closed door. 

You pause, considering your options. 

_She could have fallen asleep with the light on. You’d just be disturbing her._

_She could be awake, but that doesn’t mean she wants to be bothered._

But you have an ache for her, and it settles deep in your bones. You want to be near her. You want to hear her voice, hold her in your arms. You want everything. It’s been too long since you’ve had it.

And so you knock, a hesitant tap against wood. 

She responds much more quickly than you expect, and despite the odd time, she looks happy to see you. She’s in a red night dress, but she obviously hasn’t been sleeping; there’s a sketchbook open on her bed and pencils strewn about.

“Hey,” you say, and she lets you in. You sit on her bed, and wonder how many nights she’s stayed in this room. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, closing her sketchbook quickly and organizing her pencils.

“Yeah. It’s hard to shut my brain off, sometimes.”

“Lot to take in, huh?” she says, gesturing vaguely at her surroundings.

“Oh, definitely. Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get past your new hairstyle, but now that I’ve seen it down again, I think I’ll be okay.”

Asami laughs and comes to sit beside you. “Says you.”

You pretend to pout and it’s like three years haven’t passed and you’re on that airship again, heading to the Earth Kingdom.

“I like it, though. It suits you,” Asami finishes, then smirks. “Very snazzy.”

You blush, and you’re sure Asami notices. You’re thankful she doesn’t bring it up. 

“How are you, Asami?” you ask, somewhat abruptly. You want to know – badly – but you also want to change the subject.

She looks lost in thought for a moment. “Things didn’t look too good for a while. Maybe they still don’t. But as long as you’re here, I’m sure they’ll only get better.”

You can’t figure out if she’s talking about herself or the fate of the world. You think both.

After that, there’s a lull in the conversation, and you’re planning on bringing up the walrus yak in the room when she beats you to it.

“How are _you_ , Korra? Really.”

You ponder this, staring at beige wallpaper. “Better,” you say, after a moment, and it’s honest.

Asami studies you, as if she’s trying to extract every ounce of meaning she can from the word. Finally, she pulls you into a hug, and you’re glad you didn’t have to tell her that this was exactly what you wanted. 

“I missed you so much,” she says, and it’s muffled in your shoulder.

Your chest aches at the words, and you want to tell her everything right then. You want to tell her not a day went by for three years that you didn’t think of her, that you missed her in a different way from the others; less missing, more longing. You want to tell her that even though you never used to believe in missing pieces or soul mates you’re pretty sure she’s changed your mind. 

You want to tell her how grateful you are that she’s willing to be here, to pick up where they left off with no questions asked. You want to tell her that her scent is exactly the same as all those years ago and it’s comforting you and making you dizzy all at once. 

But you settle on “I missed you too,” because it’s almost as honest.


End file.
